she sits beautiful and rocking, sadness seeping
in woven multicolours of foreign threads,
no pretension nor derision, but pure and clean
emotion pouring out, willing.

red eyes beckon beyond knowledge to truth
of friendship in hope to better days,
lighter thoughts and brighter still.

hope will not always curl and compress
snatching illusions and cracking up.
i want to make it better. does silence bathe
and balm - or sting like winter nettles?

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